


Faith

by SqrrlgrrlM



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqrrlgrrlM/pseuds/SqrrlgrrlM
Summary: Exploring what may have happened if the confessional scene had actually involved a confession.
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

They were in the confessional and he had finally,  _ finally  _ gotten her to open up to him. Her words were searingly, achingly beautiful and he fell a little more in love now that her brokenness was on display for him and him alone. 

“I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far, I think I’ve been getting it wrong. 

And I know that is why people want people like you in their lives. Because you just tell them how to do it. You just tell them what to do. And what they’ll get out of the end of it. And even though I don’t believe your bullshit and I know that scientifically nothing I do makes any difference in the end anyway, I’m still scared, why am I still scared? 

Just fucking tell me what to do, Father.”

Silence. 

He had so many contradictory desires warring within him that he was frozen, unable to act. He wanted - oh how he wanted! - to go to her, kneel before her, and give her absolution in a touch, a kiss, in  _ him.  _ That was the human side of him. The priest side of him wanted to help her find her way. Help her find her own peace. 

He heard rustling on the other side and knew she must be thinking that he was as disgusted with her as she was with herself and that would just not do. 

“Kneel.”

“What?”

“Kneel…….Just kneel.”

He heard the thud as she placed her glass of whiskey on the ledge and the rustles and thumps as she did as he instructed. He couldn’t help the thrill he felt at her following his commands or the way his body tightened with pleasure. The internal war continued. He was just about to go to her when he heard a crash from the chapel. He looked heavenward and mouthed “Thank you.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Love.”

He heard her breath hitch and grimaced. The “Love” had just slipped out. 

“What?”

“I can’t tell you what to do. You already know what you’re going to do. But I can tell you this: in the short time we have known each other, I can tell that you’re not the type of person to forget. You carry so much love in your heart that it radiates out to everyone you meet. You hold those you love tightly to your heart and you don’t let go. And that’s part of what causes you pain. You think that all the sins you’ve committed make you unworthy of love instead of realizing that they are expressions of your love. Can you find better ways to express it? Yes. We all can.” 

He pauses and listens, wondering how she’s taking all this. He hears her slightly stuttered breathing and knows she’s crying; pictures the tears running down her face. He wants  _ so badly _ to go and comfort her, but he stays on his side of the confessional. 

“You say nothing we do matters, but I would argue that in the absence of God or an afterlife or any of ‘my bullshit,’” he hears her watery chuckle, “then the only thing that  _ does _ matter is what we do. How we treat each other. If we can only affect this life, then why not try to make it a little kinder, a little happier, for others?”

He hears a little hiccup and the sniffles that indicate a fresh round of tears. 

“But that’s just it. I make everything worse, not better.”

“How so?”

There’s a long pause before she whispers, “I killed my best friend.” She stops, waiting for judgement. Disgust. Rejection. Instead he says softly,

“Tell me.”

A pause. A breath. S“The guinea pig café was Boo’s idea.”

“Boo?”

“My best friend. My  _ only  _ friend. The café came first. The result of a drunken night trying to figure out what to do with our lives. We didn’t really get along with anyone besides each other so we decided the only way we could hold a steady job was to work together.” Despite the tears, he could hear the smile in her voice and the love and affection she had for her friend. “The guinea pig was a last minute birthday gift from me to Boo. I couldn’t think of anything else and I was standing outside a pet store and panic-bought Hilary so I wouldn’t show up empty handed.” She laughed again, caught up in the memory then said quietly, “She loved that guinea pig. And so the guinea pig café was born.”

He heard more rustling and then a gulp as she finished off her whiskey. Then silence. Whatever she was going to say next apparently required liquid courage. 

He could barely hear her as she whispered, “And I killed her. She was my best friend and I killed her.”

The pain and self-loathing he could hear in her voice tore at his heart and spoke to his own misdeeds and self-destructive past. 

He kept his voice soft and matter-of-fact, “You killed her? I think you are many things, but a murderer isn’t one.” Then, teasingly, “Plus, you’re not in jail. I know you said that they just won’t have you, but I think they will, for that.”

He got the chuckle he was hoping for, however slight.

“I slept with her boyfriend. She really liked him and I was, I dunno, jealous..or something. I had lost my mum and I thought I might be losing Boo and I just...I couldn’t handle it. So I had sex with her boyfriend. He told her. Not that it was me, just that he’d cheated. And she was so broken. So hurt. So she decided to hurt herself. Just a little. To make him feel bad. But it didn’t work out that way. She walked out into the bike lane and instead of getting some bruises and maybe a broken bone, she ended up dying. She killed herself and it’s all my fault!” 

She broke down in a fresh wave of grief and self-loathing and her sobs sounded like they were tearing her apart. He couldn’t take it anymore. He flung his confessional door open, ripped aside her curtains, and dropped beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against him. She buried her head into his neck and sobbed like her heart was breaking. 

They sat like that, him holding her and her crying into him, for what felt like hours. He stroked her hair and whispered nonsense words of comfort until her crying quieted. When she finally went limp against him, he tightened his arms and kissed the top of her head. She shuddered and burrowed into him. The feeling of having her in his arms was indescribable. 

“Love, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Fucking was,” came the muffled reply. 

“Fucking  _ wasn’t _ . Boo was a grown woman who made her own decisions. Was what you did wrong? Yes. But the boyfriend didn’t  _ have _ to have sex with you.”  _ Though you are fucking irresistible  _ he thought to himself. “He chose to. Boo didn’t have to walk into traffic. No disrespect to your friend, but who does that?! Most people get a revenge body and fuck around. They don’t cause themselves bodily harm unless there is something more going on. And if you had known she would react like that, would you have slept with him?”

She squirmed uncomfortably, face still buried in his neck. 

“Would you have?” he prodded. 

“No.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Because you’re not a bad person. You’re just human. Like the rest of us. Stop blaming yourself for the choices of others. You only have control over  _ you _ .”

He felt more than heard her shaky breaths and tightened his arms once more, knowing this time with her was about to draw to a close. He was simultaneously pleased and saddened. Pleased because she had shared this with him and saddened because he wanted to hold her just like this and never let go. 

She took a few more shaky breaths before pulling away gently. She looked at him, eyes swollen and red, make-up smeared, nose running and he thought she had never looked more beautiful. She gave a watery laugh and scrubbed at her face with her sleeve. 

“Jesus.”

He made an amused face at her. “Jesus, indeed.”

“I’ve never talked to anyone about that. What have you done to me?!” She elbowed him lightly, trying to change the mood. 

“Hm. Now that I’ve trapped you…” he waggled his eyebrows mockingly. 

“So what now?” 

“Now, you go home and go to bed and hopefully wake up tomorrow feeling better.” 

“What about you?”

“Well, it’s way past 9.30 and I have to conduct services at 6 a.m.”

She scrambled up and out of his embrace. The cool night air leached away the warmth from their embrace and he suddenly felt hollow. Empty. Forsaken. 

“God! I’m so sorry!”

He stood up and forced himself to pat her shoulder and smile reassuringly, as if she was just one of his parishioners. 

“No, no! It’s alright. That’s what I’m here for. It is literally my job.” Was it just his imagination or was there a flash of hurt in her eyes?

“Right. Well. I’ll, uh, just be going then.” She turned to leave. 

“Well, good night,” he said softly. She smiled shyly and started to walk away. He should let her go. Keep this professional. 

“Hey!”

She turned. “Yes, Father?”

“Do you want to come out with me tomorrow night for my next restaurant review? It’s a new hipster gastropub. Should be pretentious and fun. I’d invite my other friends, but they’re all busy being nonexistent.”

She paused uncertainly and he thought she would refuse. Then she gave him a brilliant smile, “I’d love to! I’ll call with my number tomorrow. See you then!”

He sighed as the chapel doors closed behind her.

“I am so fucked.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the Priest’s turn for a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of pedophilia, violence, child abuse. Nothing graphic.

The gastropub was as pretentious as he expected, but the food was actually good, which he was happy about since that meant he was able to draw their not-date out as long as possible. He knew he was setting himself up for a heartache of monumental, even Biblical, proportions, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was an addict and she was an expensive bottle of Macallan wrapped in a bow with his name on the card. 

She didn’t wear the black jumper she had worn to that disaster of an engagement dinner, much to his disappointment, but he couldn’t say he disapproved of her choice tonight. The silver-and-sapphire Bardot top left her shoulders deliciously bare and the vented sleeves, gathered at her wrists, showed flashes of her arms as she moved. Silver trainers peeked out from the hem of her wide-legged sapphire trousers. It took all of his admittedly deficient will-power  _ not _ to lean over and run his lips from her neck to the cap of her shoulder. 

Her touch on his wrist brought him back to himself with a start. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I was wool gathering. What were you saying?”

“Hm. From look on your face, it must have been a good memory,” she smiled. 

_ Not a memory, but his thoughts were definitely good ones.  _ “Yeah.” He smiled back. “It was a good one.”

“I was asking what drew you to the priesthood. Unless you’d rather not talk about it.” 

“Ah, no, no. It’s fine. Just not a terribly interesting story.” 

She propped her chin on her hand and focused on him, causing his heart to stutter for just a moment. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Big reader, no friends, remember?” he tried to joke. 

“Hm. I think I remember something like ‘many, many times.’ A man who makes that statement can’t be boring. So, tell me. It’s only fair.” Her grin was conspiratorial. He couldn’t resist her invitation to share confidences. Dammit. In for a penny...

He took a deep breath. “When I was a child, my family life wasn’t very happy, as I’m pretty sure you may have guessed by my ‘successful alcoholic’ comment.”

She nodded and took a sip of her martini, but she didn’t remove her fingers from his wrist. 

“Like your Godmother mentioned, Mum was a lesbian. But she was a lesbian when being gay was illegal in Ireland. Her parents gave her a choice: marry my Da or be chucked off to the Magdalen Asylum in Dublin. Everyone had heard the rumours about that place. There was no real choice, so she chose my Da. At first, Da didn’t mind that Mum had a girlfriend.” He grimaced. “Probably thought he’d get two rides for the price of one.”

He stopped to take a drink, draining his whiskey in two gulps. She moved her hand on top of his and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. 

“Neither Mum nor Martha, her girlfriend, were amenable to that. Mum avoided Da as much as possible, but did get pregnant with my brother right after they got married. Just to ‘prove’ she wasn’t a lesbian, I guess. I was an accident, or so I was told. Martha left after I was born. Mum and Da started fighting all the time and Mum began spending all of her time at work. Danny, my brother, told me it was my fault. If I hadn’t been born, Martha would have stayed, and Mum would have been home more.” He didn’t realize he was crying until she reached up to wipe his tears away. He risked a glance at her. Tears glimmered, unshed, and the understanding in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees. 

She flagged down their waiter and asked for a glass of water for him. He cleared his throat and quirked his eyebrow at her. “Worried I’ll end up in floods and make a scene?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. She aimed a mock punch at his shoulder. 

“No! Just making sure you’re headache free for the wedding tomorrow. I may hate Godmother and hope that Dad suddenly comes to his senses and runs off the maid, but I won’t actively sabotage the wedding. I think.”

The waiter came back with a glass of water. He raised the glass to her in a silent  _ Cheers _ and downed half of it in one go. 

“Thanks. I needed that. So, where was I? Oh yeah. So, Martha left, Mum disappeared into her cups and work, and Da did the same. Once I was old enough, I escaped to church. It was the one place I knew Danny wouldn’t follow me.”

“Oh god. Did he...to you..?” She wrapped both of her hands around his. The touch sizzled through him despite the topic of conversation. 

“No, no. Not...quite. He never really touched me. Just turned up whenever...whenever…” he took a deep breath. He’d never, ever told anyone about this. Not when he was completely pissed. Not when he was high out of his mind. Not during Seminary.  _ Never _ . “He just kept showing up whenever I was undressing or naked and...just... _ stared _ at me. We shared a room, so it was hard to get away. I tried to tell Mum and Da. She shrugged it off as sibling shenanigans. Da cuffed me and told me not to be such a pussy. I started changing in the bathroom. One night, I woke up to find him in bed with me and his hands up my shirt. I panicked and shoved him away. He fell and hit his head and started  _ wailing _ . Da came rushing in, took one look at him on the floor by my bed, and thrashed him then and there. Called him a pervert and a deviant. The racket must’ve penetrated Mum’s drunken haze ‘cause the next thing I knew she was there trying to pull Da away from Danny. He started shouting at her, saying Danny was a pervert because of her, that it was her fault. She slapped him and he punched her. I was terrified. I jumped out of bed and ran off to the church. The priest, Father Micheal, let me in and made me some cocoa. Asked me what happened. I told him about the fight, but not what caused it. He put me up in a spare room in the rectory. He talked to my parents the next day. I don’t know what they discussed, but by the end of the week Danny was shipped off to a boarding school and Mum moved in with her sister. Da pretty much ignored me. I grew up kind of wild. When I was old enough, I started trying to find love and validation through sex. I wasn’t picky. Male, female, didn’t matter. I drank. Used drugs. I was a mess. That was my life for over a decade. It’s a miracle I’m still alive. A bigger miracle that I didn’t kill someone or end up with an STD. I couldn’t hold down a job or a relationship. Then I saw a news report about locals who’d been caught up in a pedophile sting. And there was my brother’s mugshot plastered all over the telly. I...I can’t even describe it. I was sickened. Horrified.” He stopped to gulp at his water again. He was sweating profusely and his stomach was roiling. 

She squeezed his hands. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” He cleared his throat. “Well, not much left to tell. I sobered up and started going back to church since that’s the only place in my life I ever felt safe and accepted. Over time, I just felt drawn to the priesthood. I spoke to priests at different churches. Learned all I could. I thought the priesthood would be the perfect place for me: I could find the peace I’d been searching for since childhood and help others. Plus, you know, God,” he nudged her with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. 

“Ah, yes, believing in something wonderful, right?” She met his eyes and smiled, keeping her hands wrapped around his. 

“Exactly.” He smiled back and kept his gaze on her, letting her innate radiance soothe him. 

They both startled when the waiter cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but we closed thirty minutes ago. Can I box your dessert?”

He blushed and reluctantly pulled a hand away to gesture to the chocolate concoction they were going to share, “Yes, please, so sorry!”

“No worries, mate! Hope you enjoyed everything. Same check or separate?”

“Separate,” she said at the same time he said, “Together.” The waiter gave them his most polite  _ I don’t have time for this cutesy bullshit _ look. 

“Together,” he insisted. “I invited you, I pay.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but glanced at their waiter and acquiesced. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

He helped her into her coat and they began walking towards the bus stop. His hand twitched with the desire to grab hers and walk hand in hand. 

“Ready for tomorrow?” he asked. 

“No, not really. But it really doesn’t matter if I’m ready, does it?” she replied lightly. “I want my dad to be happy, of course, but I wish it were with someone else.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The ghost of Margaret Thatcher would be a definite improvement!” 

He was laughing as her bus arrived. 

Her eyes went from mischievous to soft as she looked at him and she leaned over and gently pressed her lips against his cheek. 

“Thanks.”

“I enjoyed the company. It’s a lot more fun when I’m not alone.” He didn’t mean it to sound as sad as it came out. 

“Thanks for dinner, yes, but also: thanks for sharing.”

His voice had deserted him; he could only nod in response. 

“See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

He watched as her bus disappeared around the corner. The sign said his was due in fifteen, so he sat and let his head hit the glass with a  _ thunk _ . 

What the Hell was he doing?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding.

He’s pacing the alleyway, trying to sort out his notecards and trying  _ not _ to look for her when he hears a rustling in the bushes. He’s about to yell or clap or something when she comes flying around the corner, head down, looking furious. And glorious. 

“Oh!” She pulls up short. 

“Oh fuck!”

“Oh my God, FUCK, you’re here.”

“Jesus. I thought you were a fox….You’re not.”

“No — are you — I didn’t know you were — “

“No no, I’m fine, sorry — I know — I just didn’t want to — I’m practising the homily.”

“How’s it going?”

“Not good. I can’t — I can’t…” he pauses to take her in. She’s radiant in a little red sundress that shows off acres of leg. He tries not to be distracted, but can’t help blurting out, “You look lovely.”

She blushes and looks down, “Thank you.” She looks up with a smile barely quirking the corner of her red, red lips. “So do you.”

He preens for a moment, “Wait till you see me in the full shebang. You’re going to lose your fucking mind.”

They laugh together for a minute and suddenly, inexplicably, he feels himself calm down. He’s ready. He knows what to say. He leans against the brick wall, letting the coolness of the stone seep through his clothes. She joins him, not quite touching. 

“Smoke?” she offers. 

“God yes!” He accepts the cigarette, fingers almost but not quite brushing and leans forward to allow her to light it. 

They smoke in companionable silence for a moment. He can feel the electricity between them grow, the charge nearly a physical sensation on his skin. He doesn’t know if he should run or push her against the wall and snog her until they’re both breathless. Then he sees her tense before she turns towards him and there’s a flash of panicked hope that she’s made the decision for him. 

“Look, the last two days have been kind of intense.” Oh God. She’s dumping him. Well, not  _ dumping _ dumping, since they weren’t together, but friend dumping. Wait. Was that even a thing? He tried not to look panicked. She’d been in his life for less than a month and he already couldn’t picture his life without her in it. “And, well, I’m absolute shit at friendship. At any relationship, really. Well, you know. I told you.” She looks at him nervously from under her lashes. He waits. She clears her throat. “And I’ve never had a bloke for a friend before. Really, I’ve only ever had the one - Boo.” She takes another deep breath and says in a rush, “But I’d really like to try this friendship thing. I can’t promise I won’t get totally pissed and try to snog you or shag you at some point, but I’ll try hard not to be so, well, me.” She looked up at him then, meeting his eyes, and he can tell she’s bracing for rejection. As if he isn’t going to leap on whatever bone she throws him like the complete knob he is. 

“I would really like that.” The way her eyes brighten could have lit the whole of London.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I like you just the way you are. I expect you to be wholly and completely you.”

“Oh really, Father?” she smirked. 

“Oh really.” He jerked a thumb towards the garden. “Now fuck off. I have a wedding to perform.”

Her delighted laughter rang in his ears long after she left. 

***

The party was winding down when he finally got the chance to talk to her alone again. He spotted her in the back of the garden, limned in fairy lights and staring at the sky. 

He made his way over and, catching her eye, executed a little spin. “Well,” he grinned, “what did you think?”

“You were correct - I did lose my fucking mind. You look,” she paused to search for words, settling on “resplendent. Really, the dress is quite fetching on you. And the arms are perfect.”

They grinned at each other, sharing the memory of their shopping trip. 

“And the ceremony?” he found himself holding his breath. Until this moment he hadn’t realized just how important her opinion was to him. 

“Deadly. You inspired Claire to leg it to the airport to chase after true love. That’s so miraculous I just might have to start believing in god.”

“Really? Wait. What about Martin?”

“Oh, she ditched him before the ceremony. It was beautiful. I may have to let Harry write a song about it.”

He looked at her quizzically, wondering what her ex-girlfriend had to do with it. She waved her hand to indicate it wasn’t important. “That’s a story for another day.”

“May I have this dance,” he asked just as she said, “I’m shattered. Think I’ll head…” they both laughed a little awkwardly. Then spoke over each other again. “Yeah, yeah, I bet.” “Oh well okay.”

Before he could say anything more, she took his hand and led him to the small area set aside for dancing. He slid his left hand around her waist and took her right hand in his, tucking their entwined hands between their bodies. She wrapped her left arm lightly around his shoulder, fingers at the base of his skull. They moved together to the music, swaying softly, with no need for conversation. He made sure not to pull her too close, though it was a constant battle with himself. Anyone looking would just see two people dancing - nothing inappropriate, nothing to indicate his heart was soaring at the feel of her against him. 

“So, how does this friend thing work?” Trust her to dive right in. Fearless. He  _ loved _ that about her. 

“Um, well, I think we hang out.”

“Mmhmm”

“Chat.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“Tell each other secrets while we paint our nails and talk about boys.” She whacked his head and he laughed. 

“I am  _ so _ not interested in hearing about how you have the hots for god.”

He widened his eyes in mock worry, “But how else will I know if He really likes me?”

She buried her head in his shoulder with a groan. “That was terrible. I’m going to need therapy just for the visual it created.”

He chuckled. “What are you doing Wednesday afternoon? I have some errands to run and would love company.”

“Café is open from six until noon. I’m free after that.”

“Meet you at the café at noon then?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’s about to pull her in for another dance when they’re interrupted by the strident voice of her Godmother calling for him. 

“Father! Father! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” She slanted a look at her goddaughter. “Oh hello dear. I thought you had left.”

“Nope. Still here.” 

“Well, I’m sure you must be absolutely knackered. Don’t let me keep you.” She grabbed the Priest by the arm and started to drag him away. It took all of his self-control not to jerk his arm away and snarl at her for interrupting. Instead, he let her Godmother steer him over to the where the Groom stood, with his Love following behind. 

Her dad reached over to embrace her. “Going?”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s been a long day and I have to open the café tomorrow.” She leans over to give her dad a peck on the cheek. 

“Bye, my daughter.”

“Bye, Father.” She turns to him, a tiny smile on her lips. “Bye, Father.”

Everyone laughs. He tries not to make it too obvious that he’s watching her until she’s out of sight. 

He sighs and turns back to the conversation.  _ Here we fucking go.  _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooking, a slumber party, a jerk, and weaponized Claire.

Six months on and neither one of them had managed to fuck up their friendship status. _I deserve ALL_ _the_ _celibacy awards_ , he mused on his way back to the rectory from visiting the home-bound. There had been a few close calls, on both their parts, after a little too much to drink, but the point was she had never actually kissed him or tried to shag him ( _or told him she loved him)_ and he had never let her know how much he wanted her to. The eye-fucking, _and God bless the internet for_ ** _that_** _term,_ didn’t count. It absolutely. did. not. count. 

He was happier than he could ever remember being. It wasn’t total happiness, not when he knew he could never be with her in the way he wanted to, but it was happiness nonetheless. If he was content before he met her, he should be fucking joyous now. 

_ Except… _

He pumped the brakes on that thought before it could even take off. He would  _ not _ start this cycle of questioning the Church again. He had made his decision, no take-backs. 

“Hey Pam, I’m back!” he called as he bounced through the door. 

“We’re in the kitchen, Father!” she called back. 

_ We? _

He poked his head around the door and had to suppress the wide grin that wanted to break through. The person he wanted to see most in the world was seated at the kitchen table across from Pam, sipping a cup of tea. She aimed a small finger wave his way. An aroma full of fudgy goodness was emanating from the oven. 

“She was teaching me her recipe for those chocolate tarts everyone loves so much,” Pam explained. 

His Atheist grinned at Pam, “Well, I had to pay you back for that stroganoff recipe you showed me. One pot, four ingredients is just my speed. If we keep this exchange up I might even be able to start using my kitchen for more than reheating leftovers and storing booze!”

Pam rolled her eyes, “Oh stop it! Anyone who can bake like you do can learn to cook. Baking requires precision and a certain understanding of ingredients and interactions. With cooking all you need is a good basic recipe for something you like. Adding more or less of something isn’t going to make it inedible. Usually.”

“Says someone who can cook!” was the amused reply, with hands thrown in the air for emphasis. 

Their good-natured argument was interrupted by the timer. Pam bustled over to check the pastry, lifting it out and placing it on a cooling rack once she’d determined it was done. 

“Alright, now that’s done, I’m off to watch the grands for the weekend. James and Akemi haven’t had a proper getaway in ages.” She grabbed her bag and keys and made for the door. “Don’t make yourself sick on the tart again, Father! And I’ll see  _ you  _ next Thursday!” Pam called over her shoulder as she scurried out, pulling the door behind her. 

His Love leaned back in her chair and looked at him with a bemused expression, “Again?”

“Ignore her, she’s been at the Communion wine again. Is there still hot water in the kettle?” He strode over to pull a mug out the cupboard, trying to hide the flush on his cheeks. 

“Yes, we left it on for you. And I repeat: don’t make yourself sick on the tart  _ again _ ? Explanation please,” she said in her best school headmistress voice. Oh God. That voice was such a turn-on. 

To cover up his reaction, he brandished his mug at her and said in his snottiest voice, “I don’t have to fucking tell you! You’re not the boss of me!”

She balled up her napkin and threw it at him, bouncing it off his head. 

“Oh you are _so_ going to tell me. It’s just a matter of time. Since Pam bailed on us, what’ll it be tonight, Father? Pinochle? Scrabble? Want me to kick your ass at Go Fish again?” 

“For the record, I  _ let _ you win. You were all sad and mopey after your MarioKart loss, I was just trying to make you feel better, like the saintly man of God I am!” he struck his most pious attitude and smiled at her beatifically.

“That was all an act! I let  _ you  _ win because it’s disturbing to see a grown man lose his fucking mind over a bad round of Words with Friends!” 

“You...you…!” he pretended to sputter in indignation, his eyes twinkling with suppressed fun. 

“Me. Me. Me  _ what? _ You wanna go old man?”

She mockingly raised her fists and mimed boxing at him. “Be warned, I’ve taken down five year olds hopped up on sugar. I can take you down, too!”

They both went a little breathless thinking where fake grappling could lead. He had to redirect before...before. Before. 

“I’m quaking in my Church-issued footwear. But no, no games of dubious skill and chance tonight. What about a movie?”

“Hm.” She placed her fist under her chin and screwed up her face, pretending to think it over. “Well,  _ I guess _ ,” was the put-upon response. Then brightly, “But only if we can order pizza and braid each others’ hair!”

“Done and done. Pam is going to be so upset she missed Girl Time.”

“Don’t worry - I’ll text her pics,” was her impish reply. 

***

Three hours and an inadvisable amount of wine, pizza, chocolate tart, and the teen room’s secret stash of Pixy Stix later, they were both laid up against each other on the sofa in front of the television bemoaning their state. 

“What is it about you that turns me into a discipline-less child again?” he moaned. 

“You’re the one that brought the Pixy Stix! You’d better not sick up on the carpet - Pam’ll be so pissed.” 

“Well, at least we're marginally sober this time.” They both shuddered at the thought of what they would feel like if they were completely pissed  **and** on a sugar high. 

She looked at him myopically, “Your braids are super-cute.” 

He shook his head and felt all the little braids she’d made gently thwack against his scalp. He’d loved having her run her hands through his hair as she worked. 

“Likewise.” He had enjoyed running  _ his _ fingers through  _ her _ hair. He was grateful the fluffy comforter in his lap hid the evidence of how very,  **very** much he had enjoyed it. As jaded as he had been by his life prior to entering Seminary, he never thought that such simple interactions could have this much of an effect on him. Each little touch, every mundane conversation was delightful and engaging as long as it was with her. 

“Do you think Buttercup braids Wesley’s hair?” 

“I’m sure it’s a standing date. Wednesday: piracy. Thursday: poisons. Friday: hair braiding. In fact, I think it says it in the book. They just cut it from the movie for time.”

“Bastards,” she yawned. “Ugh. I really need to get home before I go into a sugar coma.” She half-heartedly tried to stand and then flopped back down next to him again. “Ten minutes.”

“What? Didn’t catch that last bit through the massive yawn. Careful nothing flies in there.”

“Hardy har…..hrrrr.” She was struggling to keep her eyes open. “Just gonna….rest…..forabit…” He watched her lose her fight against sleep and made sure she was completely under before leaning over and softly whispering in her ear, “As you wish.”

***

There was a moment of disorientation when he woke on the sofa, buried under mounds of comforter, instead of in his bedroom. Then he remembered falling asleep on the couch, her asleep in his arms. What followed was the best night of sleep he could remember having in years. Maybe in his whole life. 

The blankets were empty but it only took a minute to find her - he just had to follow his nose. 

He crept to the door, listening quietly as she hummed while she made breakfast. The whole night had been so domestic and so wonderful that it made his heart soar. And he knew that it couldn’t happen again. He, a Catholic Priest, could not have a woman spend the night with him, no matter how chaste the interaction. If anyone knew, there would be talk and the faith his parishioners had in him as a Father would be damaged. He wouldn’t be able to do his job. And he really did love his job. 

He plastered a smile on his face and rounded the corner. “Smells delicious!” She started and turned towards him, spatula in hand, and grinned.

“Thought we might need some protein after all the sugar, and Pam keeps a nicely stocked fridge. Omelette?”

He accepted the plate with a murmured thanks then said a quick prayer as he sat. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked around a mouthful of eggy, cheesy, hammy goodness. 

She slid into the seat across from him and took a bite of her own omelette before responding. “Great! Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages. You?”

“Good, good. No hangover. It’s amazing how much better you feel when you’re drinking three glasses of wine instead of three tumblers of whiskey.”

“We’ll have to remember that for next time.”

He made a noncommittal sound. She looked at him quizzically. 

“I have a bit of a personal question to ask you.”

“Ooh, I love personal questions. And the answer is yes, I do in fact shave  _ everywhere,  _ but only if I think I’m going to get lucky.” She waggled her eyebrows at him and took another bite of omelette. He couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. 

“No, no, I don’t want to hear about your shaving routine,”  _ Yes I fucking do! _ “I wanted to ask when the last time it was that you actually went out. Like on a date.”

“Why, Father? You asking?” A flirty little smile played at the corner of her mouth. 

What he wanted to say was  _ Yes!  _ What he actually said was, “Stop teasing. I’m serious. When was the last time you went out. It seems like you spend most of your time with me when you’re not at the café or with your family.”

The smile faded, to be replaced by the same hard, inscrutable look she had that day in the café when she’d kicked him out. 

“Concerned for me, are you Father?”

“I’m just concerned that you might think that this,” he gestured between the two of them, “is more than it is.”

The color drained from her face and it looked like she was slowly bleeding to death. He desperately wanted to take the words back. 

She stood abruptly, hands on the table. “What I  _ thought _ was that we enjoyed each other’s company and were being,” she snapped her fingers sarcastically as she pretended to think , “what’s that word again? Oh yeah. Friends.” She strode over to the sink and dumped her dishes in. “Apparently I was wrong.”

He raised his hands in a placating gesture and stood. “No, no, that’s not what I mean at all! I just wanted to make sure you knew that I really am dedicated to the Church. I don’t want to feel like I’ve led you on in any way. As your friend, I just wanted to encourage you to not put your life on hold. For me.” The look she aimed at him skewered him to the core and took his breath away. His mind was gibbering at him to  _ shut the fuck up right now you eedjit!  _ but he just couldn’t stop. “What we are is...is… all we can ever be. I’m sorry.”

For a split second her mask broke and he could see the abject hurt underneath. He had never felt like such a piece of shit before in his life. Then she rallied and slammed the mask back down. 

“Thanks for your concern, Father.” It looked like she would say more, but she clenched her jaws together tightly, grabbed her bag, and left without another word.

***

Friday, 11:11 a.m.

Hot Priest: I’m sorry. I’m a complete arsehole. 

3:17 p.m.

Hot Priest: Please talk to me. 

7:38 p.m.

Hot Priest: Please please talk to me. 

8:20 p.m.

Hot Priest: I’m not going to stop until you talk to me. 

9:56 p.m.

Hot Priest: I’m staying up late. Call me. Please. 

  
  


Saturday , 8:32 a.m.

Hot Priest: I know you’re getting these messages. Your Read Receipts are turned on. 

9:40 a.m.

Hot Priest: If I haven’t heard from you by the time I finish 10 o’clock Mass, I’m calling Claire. 

10:06 a.m.

Boudicca: 🖕🏼Also, Claire *dares you* to call her. 

Boudicca: I’m changing your name to Arsehole Priest. 

Relief coursed through him when he saw her message. She might be mad, but she hadn’t completely shut him out. He could salvage this. 

11:14 a.m.

Arsehole Priest: You’re right. I was bluffing. Claire terrifies me. 

2:19 p.m.

Boudicca: You should be terrified. She’s planning on coming to Mass Sunday. She’s going to sit in the front row and be Very Disapproving. 

2:22 p.m.

Arsehole Priest: New number. Who dis?

***

He was doing the washing up after their standing Thursday cookery class, feeling content now that things seemed to be back on track between him and his Atheist, and waiting for Pam to invite her over for game night tomorrow. If  _ he _ asked after their row it would be weird. Pam asking was normal and, since she knew how Pam was, expected. 

He has arranged things so he could watch her reflection in the glass without anyone being the wiser. 

“So luv, will we see you for Game Night tomorrow?” Trust in Pam. Right on time.

His Atheist gave a little cough and he saw her squirm in her chair a bit. “Well, I have a...uh...a...uh little date, actually.”

He froze. Even his heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. 

“Oh, how wonderful!” Pam actually clapped her hands, the traitor. “Tell me all about him. I have to live vicariously, you know.”

He saw her glance up at him uncertainly and forced himself to begin washing again. 

“Well, it’s a her, actually,” she said with a bit of a nervous half-laugh. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you liked women. And here I thought I’d have to protect Father from your wily advances when I should have been worried about myself. Well, then tell us all about  _ her. _ We’re dying to know, right Father?”

He managed a strangled, “Uh” then coughed and tried again, “Yes, yes, absolutely. Tell us about..her.”

She turned to smile at Pam, “Well, I like a bit of both, actually, so neither one of you are safe. I’ve got to start my harem somehow!”

Pam laughed a full-on Pam laugh and he joined in with a weak chuckle. He could  _ not _ believe Pam was taking this so well. She had always seemed so...proper. 

“I can’t believe you’re taking this so well,” his Atheist echoed, like a damn mind-reader. “I expected a little more burn the witch and a little less girl talk .”

“Thankfully, the Church is slowly becoming more accepting of those relationships. I was raised to think it was wrong, unnatural,” she continued softly, “but when it’s your own family and you can see that it’s just love...Well. God made us in his image and God instructed us to love one another. The only way I’ll believe it’s wrong is if the Almighty Himself tells me so.” The last part was said resolution and a fierceness that indicated trouble for anyone who wasn’t Our Lord and Savior who dared to disagree. Hell, Pam might actually give Himself a piece of her mind. He wouldn’t put it past her. 

He turned and, as casually as possible, leaned against the counter. “That was brilliant, Pam. I couldn’t agree more.” He hoped the feigned heartiness in his voice was good enough to cover the lump that had lodged in his throat. He had been the one encouraging her to date; he couldn’t very well act the ass when she did. 

His Atheist slanted a look at him but remained silent. 

Pam reached out to tap her hand. “So…?”

“Oh, well, I mean it’s nothing earth-shattering. Noelle came into the café and started admiring the art work. It was slow, so she just hung around and we chatted for a bit. Then she asked me out for drinks and I said yes.”

“Noelle? What a lovely name, don’t you think Father?”

“Oh, yes. Lovely.”

What was his face doing? Was it okay? He didn’t look as devastated as he felt, did he? 

She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I should be heading home.”

She stood and grabbed her bag. “See you next Thursday, Pam.” She nodded at him, “Father.”

“Bye luv. See you next week. I want to try your chocolate tower recipe.”

She nodded agreement and shot him an inscrutable look which he tried to meet with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. He wanted to run and grab her and beg her not to go. Instead he just said, “Bye, then,” and let the door close behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked Bunhead’s visual of Fleabag as Boudicca, so I stole it a bit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship is magic and the start of a hot ecclesiastical date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going through a bit of a hard time getting my thoughts out on this one. I know where I’m going with the story, but the steps are a little clunky right now. Sorry - please bear with me!

It had been months since he brought up her dating and, while they still spent time together, it wasn’t  _ quite _ the same as before. She hadn’t put the full wall back up, more like a barricade, but he still felt the difference. He tried to be glad of it. Really, really tried. 

He also felt like a complete bastard for being pleased each time one of her relationships didn’t work out. Noelle lasted a few weeks but ultimately fizzled out when they couldn’t get their schedules to mesh. Then came Amber. He’d met her once when he’d gone by the café for lunch. She was taller than his Atheist, curvy, dusty red hair, and had the filthiest smile he had ever seen. That apparently carried over into the bedroom. He’d had to listen to her wax poetic about Amber’s  _ oral technique _ on a number of occasions. That one flamed out with a spectacular argument about her Godmother. Apparently Amber was a fan. Ugh. He cheered her up by printing out an 11 x 8 of her Godmother and inviting her over to get drunk and shoot spitballs at it. Pam disapproved on the grounds that Godmother did come to Mass on occasion so was, nominally, a parishioner. However, he did catch a muttered  _ wanker _ from her aimed at both Amber and Godmother when she thought he wouldn’t hear. He slept well that night, remembering her laughter and the easiness between them. Jacob lasted a weekend. They met at a bar, shagged each other senseless (and what he’d give to erase  _ that _ knowledge from his brain), then he’d unknowingly come to her café with his wife and two small children. The wife and children he hadn’t mentioned. Who didn’t know about his extracurricular activities. His Atheist had shown the wife a few of the more explicit texts they’d exchanged and slipped her the number of an attorney friend. 

They were hanging out in the garden, G&T’s in hand. It was a pleasant afternoon - sunny, only a slight chill when the clouds cast shade. She was laid out on her stomach on an old blanket, kicking her feet in the air leafing through a trashy celebrity rag. He was stretched out on the bench trying to read but mostly napping. 

Her voice cut through his sleep-haze, but he hadn’t caught what she said. “Hmmgh?”

“I said, you need more friends.” 

He blinked at her owlishly. “Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure your only friends are your housekeeper…”

“Pam is  _ not _ my housekeeper!” 

“...and an atheist with intimacy issues.”

“Intimacy issued? Says who?” He squirmed uncomfortably, wondering why they were having this conversation. 

“My fucking brilliant therapist, that’s who.”

He made a noncommittal noise and turned back to his book in the hopes she’d drop the line conversation. 

“You were right about me needing to date...stop that!” She threw her empty can at him when he over dramatically clutched at his chest. “And I’ve been thinking that you should probably make more of an effort to expand your friend triangle into a friend circle.”

He ran a hand through his hair, noting her appreciative side-eye. He’d found that she liked the rumpled look and  _ may  _ have started doing it more. 

He threw the can back at her. “Stall the ball there, you! Sick of me already?” His heart gave a little flip. He’d meant it to be funny but the thought of her walking away from him hurt in ways he didn’t want to think about too deeply. 

She sat up quickly. “What? No!” Her worried look made him feel better. “You know I enjoy the drinks and the chats. And the drinks. But don’t you wish you had, I dunno, some guy friends or something?”

“ _ Some guy friends or something!” _ he mocked. 

“Shut up!” She was scarlet and on the defensive. 

He continued to poke at her and drawled sarcastically, “Because you have so many friends yourself. From what I’ve seen, you have me, Pam, your  _ sister.  _ Ooh. One whole person more than me. Pot, kettle.”

“Oh fuck off!” she laughed. “I also have my ex-bank manager and his wife. I have a whole hexagon of friends. Round off the edges, and you get a circle. So there!” 

He flopped down next to her and nudged her shoulder with his. “Point taken, though. In fact, I had been thinking about reaching out to an old Seminary buddy of mine.”

She looked at him from underneath her lashes. “Hm. Is he hot?” The memory of her laughter as he attacked her sides and feet with tickly fingers brought a smile to his face on many a sleepless night. 

***

David had been one of his closest friends at Seminary. They’d commiserated over childhood traumas, mocked the more hidebound of their priest-teachers, and shared their dreams about their future of service. They’d lost touch after being shuffled from parish to parish and dealing with the busy daily life of the priesthood. He should have called David when he’d been assigned to St. Ethelred’s. He knew David would have celebrated his being assigned his own parish, small though it was. 

Well, he’d rectify that tonight. David was, amazingly, living near by, only a few tube stops away, and had agreed to meet him to catch up over dinner and drinks. He was really looking forward to it and hoped that spending time with someone as devout as David would help him reaffirm his commitment to the church. 

He called out to Pam as he left, feeling lighter than he had for a while. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends and new horizons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for mentions of various scandals within the church. Nothing graphic.

David was exactly how he’d remembered him. Still blond, though going a little grey in the beard. Same quiet manner and thoughtful words. Funny and serious by turns. The only difference was a certain air of disquiet that he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

The pub was packed, but they’d managed to squeeze into a quieter corner. During lulls in the conversation he entertained himself by people-watching. A pub was a great way to see the best and worst of humanity in a little microcosm of the world. 

They had been there for an hour, exchanging the normal pleasantries, catching up on family and gossip. He’d avoided the topic of their shared faith, despite it being the impetus for this meeting. He had to screw up his courage before he could start the conversation that would ultimately set him on the path to letting her go. 

He was about to ask David about his parish when David put down his utensils with a thud. “Look, I can’t dance around this anymore so here it is - I left the church a couple of years ago. So….uh, yeah, there it is.” The look in his eyes was simultaneously challenging and sad. 

Totally taken aback, all he could do was stare. “Oookay. Do you want to talk about it, or…?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I haven’t really spoken to anyone about it. I just...I just couldn’t do it anymore. “

“Couldn’t do what?”

David ran his hands over his face and leaned his head back for a moment, as if gathering his courage. “I couldn’t live with the hypocrisy anymore. I couldn’t be a part of an institution that that has done, and continues to do, so much harm but never truly acknowledges it or makes amends.”

David looked like he expected an argument. Instead the Priest just said, “Go on,” in his gentlest voice. 

“Do you know why they sent me to St. Anthony’s?”

“Wasn’t Father Jacob retiring?”

“Jacob was a fucking pedophile who was being moved, quietly, to a small church in rural France. Dozens of lives shattered and he’s reassigned. Reassigned! Keeping this man in the priesthood was more important than protecting children!”

“David...”

“No! No, dammit! It’s not just the that, though God knows it should be enough! No, everything else too! It’s the treatment of women, the nuns, the violence that is not only acceptable but encouraged, the rhetoric against homosexuality, all of it! The parishioners at St. Anthony’s looked askance at me for six months, _six_ _months_ , wondering if I was another Jacob. Kids flinched away from me. Attendance had dropped. I couldn’t be alone with any of them. Everything I tried to do to reignite their belief in the Church was met with suspicion. And I don’t blame them for that. Not one bit! But I kept on. I prayed and prayed and _prayed_ about it. All these doubts and questions.

It was when a woman came to confess the sin -  _ sin _ \- of loving another woman and I realized that I was supposed to tell her that her love was wrong in the eyes of God that I had enough. The Church won’t take a stand against rapists but by God it will tell you love between two consenting adults is immoral and wrong. Fuck that!” 

David was practically gasping with the intensity of his feelings and the force of his speech, like he’d been holding it in for so long it was clawing its way out of him. 

“David..”

“You’re not going to change my mind!”

He looked sadly at his friend. “I wasn’t going to try. I just want to say...I’m sorry.”

David grabbed his beer and downed it in one go. “God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to vomit that out all over you. It’s just...I thought if anyone would understand, it would be you.”

The Priest gave a sad chuckle and took a sip of his whiskey, letting the alcohol burn away some of the intensity of his emotions. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“How could you have known?” David asked, shaking his head. “And I don’t know that I would have talked to you about it. I really struggled with trying to reconcile my faith with the reality of the Church and one day I realized I didn’t have to. I could still do God’s work outside the Church and the Priesthood, and probably even better than I could within it.” He laughed at the quizzical look his friend aimed at him. “I left and started a nonprofit aimed at helping my community,” he explained. “Now I really, truly get to live a Christ-like life.”

When the Priest saw the gleam in his friend’s eyes, he couldn’t help but get excited by the passion he saw there. “I want to hear all about it. Buy you another drink?”

“I’ll take a pint of the black stuff! Okay, so what do you want to know?” 

David spent the next several hours detailing his operation, the struggle to get it up and running, and it’s growth over time. He was a man on a mission and anyone could see the love and enthusiasm he had for helping his fellow man. It was delightful and humbling. 

“You really should come by sometime. I think you would love it.”

“I will. I really really will. But for now...I think I need to call it a night.”

“Alright mate, see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They both staggered out the door. David caught an Uber and the Priest sloshed himself down to the bus stop. He plopped down on the bench and pulled out his phone. 

Arsehole Priest: Hey

Arsehole Priest: Hellllllloooooo

Arsehole Priest: Yu ip op up?

Friend Girl: it’s 1 am. Wtf?

Arsehole Priest: What doing

Friend Girl: I WAS sleeping

Arsehole Priest: aline? 😏

Friend Girl: yes, alone. Been drinking have we?

Arsehole Priest: maybe

Friend Girl: thought you were going out with your priest friend

Arsehole Priest: did. hes not a priest now though gave it up because the church is a botch bench BITCH

Friend Girl: wow. You really have been drinking. Where are you? 

Friend Girl: gimme a mo. The doorbell just went. Wait. Fuck, is that you?

***

His meeting with David had thrown him for a loop. Instead of reaffirming his faith, it had left him with more questions and an increased feeling of unease. He couldn’t go back to the rectory feeling like this. So his pickled brain took him to her. He didn’t even stop to question it - just caught the bus and rang her doorbell. 

He braced himself against the door jamb with one hand, trying to steady himself, when he heard the key turn and the door open. 

“The fuck?”

He tilted his head and squinted, eyeing her from top to toe. Tousled hair. Pillow creases on her face. Skimpy tank top. Old joggers. Bare feet.  _ Adorable _ . He smiled foolishly, eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“Mmmhey.”

“Hey yourself. What are you doing here?”

Didn’t she know that there was no place he’d rather be? 

“Hi.” 

She huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes at him. “Are you coming in?”

His face lit up. Of course he was coming in! He was here, wasn’t he? He nodded and stumbled through the door and over to the sofa. He heard her shut the door and turn the key then listened to the soft padding of her bare feet on the floor before she reappeared, settling into the chair across from him. 

He frowned. He’d wanted her to sit next to him. Needed the solidity of her body against his to help put his world back on its proper axis. 

“Are you okay?” She was frowning at him in concern. See? Adorable. 

“ ‘M good. Was sad. Needed to see you.” 

Her eyes softened. “I think you could use some tea. Wait here.” He frowned as she left the room. Tea sounded okay, but did she have to leave him? He tried to protest but she just shushed him gently. “I’ll be right back.”

He settled back on the sofa, tilting his head back against the cushions. Here was so good.  _ She _ was so good. So pretty. Pretty face. Pretty hair. Pretty everything. He should tell her. He should tell her all the things. She would understand. 

He smiled when she appeared next to him, setting a pair of mugs down on the table with a soft  _ click _ . She moved to go back to her chair, but he grabbed her hand. Her mouth tightened, but she allowed him to pull her down beside him. 

She met his eyes and he didn’t want to look away. He could get lost for hours in her eyes. They were so expressive. So warm and caring. He startled when her fingers brushed against his cheeks and was surprised when he felt wetness where they passed. 

“What’s this all about?” she murmured as she stroked his cheeks. 

He leaned into her touch for a moment, like a cat, then cocked his head and regarded her solemnly. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. 

“What do you mean? Did something happen with David?” she was so gentle with him. Like she knew he was on the verge of breaking. 

“Mmhmm.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I...I…” he struggled to find the words.

“It’s okay if you can’t. I’ll listen whenever you’re ready to talk.”

The “thank you” that came out was so small and so broken that, for a minute, he didn’t realize he had said anything. 

She drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her. He went with a sigh. Her hand stroking through his hair was the last thing he felt before peace settled and sleep claimed him. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best served with tarts.

Consciousness returned slowly and painfully the next morning. He stretched slowly, trying not to jar his aching head, and froze. Either he’d shrunk or his bed had grown. He felt around for the edge, which was a good bit further than usual. His bed seemed softer than he recalled. His body was also telling him, forcefully, that it also smelled a lot like a certain atheist he couldn’t get out of his head. He froze again, afraid of who he might see when he looked over. He peeked under the blanket and sighed in relief. At least he was fully clothed. He steeled himself and looked over. 

No one was there. From the state of the pillow, it looked like no one had been there all night. He frowned and tried to remember what happened. Everything after seeing her all rumpled and lovely at the door was a blank. Fuck. 

He rose slowly, his body playing a symphony of cracks, pops, and creaks to remind him he wasn’t eighteen anymore. Once he had his feet under him and was convinced he wasn’t going to fall on his face, he began making his way downstairs as quietly as possible. 

Her flat was silent and still. The curtains remained drawn. He padded slowly into the sitting room. He was about to turn around and head to the kitchen when a small noise, barely a sigh, caught his attention. He squinted at the pile of blankets on the sofa and spotted a mop of brown curls poking out one end. Further investigation revealed his love, one hand pillowed under her cheek, fast asleep. His heart melted and he reached out to gently, reverently brush a rogue curl away from her forehead. She sighed and burrowed deeper into her pillow. 

What to do? Should he leave her a note and slip out? Go back to bed and pretend he hadn’t woken? His stomach took that moment to remind him that it was well past his usual breakfast hour. He glanced at the clock. Several hours yet before he had to be back at the church. Plenty of time to prepare a sorry-for-showing-up-drunk-thanks-for-taking-care-of-me breakfast. 

Hopefully those cooking lessons with Pam had resulted in a decently stocked kitchen. 

***

“Breakfast and a show. I could get used to this, Father.”

He froze mid-shimmy, spatula raised like a microphone and cut his eyes to the side. She was leaning against the door frame, smiling broadly. 

“Uh…”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. You  _ are  _ the Dancing Queen.”

He narrowed his eyes and grinned mischievously at her. 

Her “What?” was filled with suspicion and he enjoyed the mildly worried look in her eyes as he stalked over and spun her into his arms as the first strains of Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” rolled through the tiny kitchen. 

She was a surprisingly good dancer. Their dance at the wedding had been slow and more swaying together than actual dancing. He spun her through her living room, brought her close, then stepped back out, bodies moving in sync. 

_...Let's dance...Let's dance...For fear your grace should fall/Let's dance/For fear tonight is all/Let's sway/You could look into my eyes/Let's sway/Under the moonlight, this serious moonlight/And if you say run, I'll run with you/And if you say hide/We'll hide/Because my love for you would break my heart in two… _

One last spin and he settled her into a chair at the table. She laughed up at him and clapped. 

“Oh well done.  _ Well _ done!”

“Breakfast is served!” He slid the plate of omelettes and toast onto the table with a flourish, grabbed the coffee mugs, and plunked himself down across from her. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” she said around a mouthful of food, “but what’s this all about?” She gestured towards the platters with her fork. 

“Just a thank you for taking care of me last night.”

Her cheeks reddened and she waved his words away. “You’ve done the same for me many, many times.”

“That’s what friends do. Or so I’ve heard.”

She mock-frowned. “Yeah, but now you’ve raised the bar. Next time you walk me home when I’m pissed I’ll have to do something nice for you. Then you’ll do something nicer for me and I’ll have to reciprocate and that’s an awful lot of pressure for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

“According to reports I’m selfish and shallow. Hardly friend material.”

He shook his head, frowning. “You really should stop listening to your Godmother. The woman has  _ issues _ .”

She made a noncommittal noise and kept eating. 

“I mean it.” He poked her shoulder until she looked up. She was smiling, but he could see the pain in her eyes and it cut him. He wanted to stand up and pull her into his arms and make the pain disappear. “You’ve been a good friend to me. And to Pam. Joe. Your bank manager and his wife…” He snapped his fingers, trying to conjure their names. “Rick! Rick and Diane. Don’t let that, that  _ heinous cunt _ …” she huffed a laugh…”convince you otherwise. I won’t stand for it! I’ll..I’ll…” he groped for an appropriate action for a moment before his eyes lit up with horrid glee. “I’ll write a review of Hilary’s and how fantastic it is. She reads the Newsletter. She’ll go absolutely mental when she sees that.” He grinned maniacally. 

“Oh, that is  _ evil _ . I love it!” She paused for a moment then shot him a cheeky grin and glanced skyward. “Guess it helps to have friends in  _ high _ places.”

***

As predicted, the review did indeed make her Godmother go mental. He hadn’t accounted for the potential side effects, though, and was inundated with requests from her to have him over for dinner so she could “cook him a proper meal, poor darling. Eating out so much can’t possibly be healthy for you and you never know how clean those places after all.” 

He had managed to avoid the invitations for weeks but eventually even he ran out of believable excuses. Which is how he found himself boxed in between her and her spouse at the second most uncomfortable parishioner dinner he’d ever attended. Sadly, dinners with her occupy both the first  _ and _ second spots. He was trying desperately hard to maintain his priestly composure, but between her frequent fondling of his arm and the increasingly derogatory comments about her goddaughter, he was finding it difficult not to lash out. The fact that his Atheist's own father wasn’t even trying to stand up for his daughter made it even worse. 

“I know how much you enjoy a good custard, Father, so I made one for dessert. A lovely friend of mine gave me a bottle of Madagascar vanilla made by deaf mute orphans, so sad, that has  _ the most  _ exquisite flavor, doesn’t it, Darling?”

“Er, well, yes, it…”

“We just love it. And of course getting to help those poor little orphans...well, we must all do what we can. I made the crust with fresh churned butter. So much richer and flakier than any café.”

He took a few deep mental breaths before responding. “I’m sure it’s delicious. Thank you.” She beamed at him and drew her hand down his arm from shoulder to wrist. She was about to reverse the movement when the doorbell went. 

She frowned at her husband, who was about to get up to answer it. “Leave it, Darling. We have a guest. And it’s probably just a salesman or something.” 

The doorbell went four more times in quick succession. “Oh for god’s sake, answer it and tell them to go away!”

He was up and gone before she had finished. 

“People can be so rude these days, don’t you agree?”

“Well..”

“Coming ‘round so late. Honestly!”

“We, ah, have another guest.”

The Priest looked up in relief, grateful to whomever was at the door. 

“Hello! Oh, so sorry! I didn’t realize you would have company!” He stifled a laugh. She was  _ so good  _ at this. She knew he’d be here - he’d called to have a mini-tantrum about it when he agreed to come. Her eyes danced with merriment and her red, red lips were curved in a smile as she greeted him. “Oh hello Father! So lovely to see you again.” She turned towards her Godmother, container in hand. “I was in a baking mood and I made some chocolate tarts to bring round to friends and family. You’re my last stop.” 

Her father tapped her shoulder awkwardly. “Thank you, Daughter, er, that was…”

Her Godmother rose and stalked over to grab the container. “How nice. I already made a luscious vanilla custard, but I’m sure I can find something to do with this.”

“Oh, but I love chocolate tarts. They’re my favorite!” He really couldn’t help himself. He was a bad, bad man. “Couldn’t we have both?” He smiled his most winsome smile. 

“Of course, Father,” Godmother gritted out between teeth bared in an approximate facsimile of a smile. 

The Priest continued to press his luck. “Won’t you join us?”

“Oh, I’m sure she has a very...active...night to get off to. So many men, so little time, right darling?”

“Nope, quiet night in tonight. Have to be at the café extra early.”

“So you’ll join us?” He tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice. Her father’s eyes were pinging between everyone so much so that the Priest was afraid he was going to have a stroke. 

“I’d love to,” she grinned. 

“Well then, I’ll just let you plate and serve everything, yes? You’re just so much better at those tasks than I am. I’m afraid I never learned how to properly wait on people like you have.” She stalked back over and returned to her seat next to the Priest, crowding him just a little more under the guise of “making room.”

His Atheist plated the two tarts neatly and brought them over. Her father had decided to sit beside his wife this time, so the Priest got the thrill of being able to sit next to Her, sides pressed together, through dessert. He exchanged polite small talk with her, both of them ignoring the barbed looks and frosty silence aimed at her. He finished her tart (God it was delicious) and enacted a little revenge by leaving a portion of the vanilla one uneaten due to being “full to bursting!”

Her night ruined, Godmother hurried them both out claiming the orgasmic taste of the vanilla custard had brought on a need to paint. 

They laughed all the way to the bus stop. 

“Oh sweet Jesus! I thought she was going to murder you with the power of her mind!” he gasped, wiping away tears. “You were  _ brilliant _ !”

“Why thank you kind sir,” she murmured as she curtsied, looking up at him from under her lashes and trying not burst into another round of hysterical laughter. 

He collapsed on the bench. “I’d be willing to sit through another dinner just to watch you wind her up again. And the BAFTA goes to…”

“I’d like to thank my sister for helping me hone my abilities over the years, my Godmother for making such a fine target, and my Priest for his unfailing support. Thank you thank you all!” She finished with a little bow, then dropped down beside him. 

They sat in companionable silence, barring the occasional giggle, until the bus arrived. He was smiling that night as he dropped off to sleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green-eyed monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting may be sporadic - I'm in the process of moving.

When things started to unravel, he had no one to blame but himself. 

David had invited him to visit his non-profit and he had gone, impressed by everything he saw. It functioned as a hub to help those in need obtain all the services they qualified for. Volunteers helped with finding housing, jobs, meals, skills-building - everything. It was truly amazing and he resolved to incorporate it into St. Ethelred’s outreach services. When David mentioned how hungry he was, of course he suggested Hilary’s. Which is how they ended up sitting in the café well after close, drinking the “emergency wine” and snacking on the day’s leftovers. 

David had his eyes closed, savoring every bite. “These mini quiche things are  _ delicious. _ Everything has been, but these…mmm...these are my favorite.”

“Well, good food does tend to help a café stay in business,” his Atheist laughed, “but thanks! I appreciate the feedback.” She was looking especially lovely in a flowy white blouse speckled with tiny yellow flowers and black palazzo pants. She had on a pair of bright yellow trainers and matching slides in her hair. She looked bright and sunny and beautiful. 

“What do you do with the leftovers you can’t sell?” David asked around a mouthful of quiche. 

The Priest was surprised to see a flush spread over her face. “I, uh, wrap everything up individually in cling film and leave it out in a crate,” she stammered self-consciously. 

David beamed at her. “That’s wonderful! Would you mind if we let our clients know? We keep a list of shops that do that - every little thing helps.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. I’ll also make a list of other places that I know do so and put your name out at the next small business owners meeting.” The Priest’s heart swelled.  _ He _ knew how big her heart was and he loved when other people found out about it as well - made it harder for her to be dismissive when he called her on it. 

“Brilliant!” David shot him a grateful look. “I’m so glad you reached out to me again, mate. And it’s been a  _ pleasure  _ meeting  _ you _ .” David reached out to shake his Atheist’s hand and the way they smiled at each other resulted in a surge of jealousy so profound it nearly took his breath away. He buried it ruthlessly. He wanted his friends to get on. Made things easier. 

“Likewise. I hope you’ll drop by sometime. I’ll make sure to stay stocked up on the quiches.”

“It’s a deal! And, since I have to be up early tomorrow, I’m going to call it a night.” 

She locked up behind him then began bussing the table. He stood and went to start the sweeping up. 

“Oh, I can get that. I know you have to be up early for Mass tomorrow.”

“It’s no problem at all,” though his accent made it sound like  _ attall _ . “You would have been done and home hours ago if we hadn’t shown up. It’s the least I can do.”

She smiled her thanks and started the washing up. “So, does the Church have a Hot Guy Recruitment Program for the priesthood? You, David...I mean, it’s a great way to up attendance, but I’d think it would give the congregations  _ ideas _ .”

“Shh. It’s a top secret program. If the Cardinals find out you know, it’ll be sssshk.” He mimed a finger cutting across his throat then he swallowed hard and tried to adopt a teasing tone. “So you think David is hot, huh?”

“Just an objective observation. Oh god! Do you think I’m developing a priest kink? Shit. Guess I’d better avoid the Pope at all costs. Wouldn’t want to end up in a prison in Vatican City. Wait.  _ Are  _ there prisons in Vatican City or do they just haul you in front of a firing squad? Or put you on the rack?”

“You probably shouldn’t depend on Monty Python for historical accuracy.”

“But  _ The Inquisition  _ is so catchy!” She was wrestling with a large baking sheet when she lost her grip and it fell in the sink, sending water cascading over the side and completely drenching her shirt. Her white shirt. That was suddenly very see-through. “Fuck!” 

She turned, searching for her pinafore, and he was treated to the sight of her lovely breasts, nipples tight and erect from the cold water, completely visible through the sodden blouse, with no bra to interfere with the view. His mouth went dry and his trousers became uncomfortably tight. He had to grip the broom handle, white-knuckled, to keep from reaching out and crushing her to him. 

“Uh, it’s just there.” He pointed to her right. 

“Thanks!” Pinny in place, she finished the washing up. 

He took deep, calming breaths and recited prayers until the situation in his pants resolved itself. 

“Ready?” she asked. 

“Yep. Just need to tidy the broom away.”

They walked towards her flat and paused at his bus stop. 

“Text me when you get to the rectory.”

“Um, yeah. Of course. Actually, why don’t I walk you home? It’s kinda late and that sheer top might give the wrong ideas.” 

They continued walking. “Oh, really, Father? What ideas would those be?” Her lascivious smirk coupled with the use of his honorific did things to him that he tried not to ponder too deeply lest another Pants Situation occur. 

“Oh, you know the usual.”

She looked at him from under her lashes, a mischievous smile on her face. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Enlighten me.” 

He shook his head and, pointing his finger at her, said severely, “You, young lady, are trouble! It’s not the foxes I have to watch out for, it’s  _ you _ . Sure you’re not secretly a fox-girl?”

“We-ell, I have been called a fox on occasion. Your mileage may vary, though.”

He smiled faintly. “I’d have to agree with that assessment.”

“Oh really? My, aren’t we being flirty today.”

“Just an objective observation.”

“Hmm.”

They arrived at her door and he waited while she dug out her keys and unlocked it. 

“Would you like to come in and have a drink for the road?”

He was sorely tempted, but managed to decline. “No, no, have to keep a clear head in case there are foxes of the four-footed variety around. Sleep well.”

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Father. Pleasant dreams.”

He walked home, letting time take care of the massive hard-on he was now sporting. Jesus. He was in so much trouble. 

***

In the months following their initial meeting, the Priest found David and his Atheist spending more time together, sometimes with him, and more frequently without due to his ecclesiastical obligations. She brought David with her to the following month’s SBA meeting and introduced him to local small business owners. They then began working together on an employment project, using the small businesses as a springboard for the unemployed. 

He  _ should  _ be pleased that they got on so well. Instead, he was consumed by jealousy and began letting his mouth run away with him.

The first time it happened, he and David were on their way to dinner and David said he needed to swing by Hilary’s to drop off a stack of applications. It was after closing and he was surprised when David brought out his key ring and opened the door. He was even more surprised when, after the bell went as they walked in, he heard his Atheist call from somewhere in the back, “Hey David! Drop the apps on the counter. I’ll be out in a sec - need to finish inventory. There are some quiches wrapped up for you on the counter.”

David grinned. “Have I mentioned lately that I think I’m in love with you?”

He could hear footsteps as she approached. She was looking down, untying her pinny, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, “Only every other time I see you.” She looked up and spotted him, looking slightly startled. “Oh, hello you! I didn’t know you were coming, too.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize I had to run my plans by you.” That came out snarkier than he’d intended and her eyebrows shot up. David looked at him in surprise.

“I just meant that I would have saved some of the mini tarts for you.” He flushed and spread his hands, palm out, trying to stammer an apology. She shrugged it off and grabbed her jacket, shooing them out the door. “Out, out. Places to be, people to fuck.” David just laughed and accepted the peck on the cheek she gave him. She offered her hand to the Priest, and, thinking she meant to pull him over for his own kiss, angled his head to give her access and was surprised when she simply shook his hand and gave him a sober, “Father,” before locking up and heading off at a brisk pace.

David gave him an odd look but didn’t say anything. 

A few days later, he was sorting through canned goods and logging each item into the Food Pantry database when he saw her enter the rectory. He was about to call a greeting when she turned to someone behind her. “It’s just through here.” She reached out and pulled David, laughing, in behind her. 

“I  _ am _ familiar with the layout of Catholic churches, you know!” It was their body language that set him off. They were relaxed, comfortable. Casually touching arms, shoulders, hands.

“Can I help you two?” He was surprised frost didn’t immediately coat every available surface.

She paused almost imperceptibly then sauntered in and rested a hip on the table. “Hey. We’re going to check out the new Thai place on Pinfold. Thought it might be review-worthy.”

“I’m busy.”

David shrugged but she gave him a probing look. “Oh-kay. Are you sure? You could put the non-perishables down and…”

He cut her off angrily. “Some of us can’t just bunk off whenever we feel like it. We have responsibilities.”

“Woah, mate, she just meant we’d come back and help after, that’s all.”

“Oh, so you speak for her now, do you?” he sneered. What was he  _ doing _ ?

“Well fuck you then.” She said it half-laughingly, inviting him to join in and lighten the mood. He was about to apologize when David reached out and squeezed her shoulder and she reached up to pat his hand absently.

“No thanks. I’m not interested in sloppy seconds,” he practically snarled. 

She flinched as if he’d slapped her and he saw the immense hurt before she shut it down, her expression hardening. She shushed David as he opened his mouth to interject and gave the Priest a long, silent stare before turning and leaving. 

David scowled at him. “What the actual fuck? That was...I can’t even…”

He forced himself to shrug apathetically and go back to sorting, avoiding eye contact. When he looked up, David was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of angst.

He’d put off the apology all day and debated sending it in a text, but knew he needed to grovel in person. He had been out of line and a text couldn’t convey his genuine contrition. 

He practiced his apology all the way to her flat and was glad to see the light through the window indicating she was home. He knocked and waited, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. 

He heard footsteps approach and looked directly at the peep-hole. He was surprised when David’s voice thundered through the door, “Fuck off!”

He knocked again. 

“I said fuck off!”

“I’m not going to stand here shouting through the door. Open up!”

As the door began to open he heard her exasperated voice call out “For fuck’s sake, just let him in.”

David glared at him and peered back over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “Do you want me to stay? For morale support?”

She came into view, drying her hands on a tea towel and looking amused for a quick second before she finally looked at him and her face closed up.

David touched her shoulder and she shot him a grateful smile. “No, really, it’s fine. Go. You have a big day tomorrow. And you’d better call after - I want to hear  _ everything.” _

“Talk to you tomorrow then.” David shot him a parting glare and strode off into the night. 

The Priest stared after him.  _ What the entire fuck was happening? She was  _ his  _ Atheist, not David’s.  _ They _ hung out and watched movies and had dinner and chatted. Except they really hadn’t in a while…  _ He was knocked out of his thoughts when she pointedly cleared her throat. 

“Are you going to shout through the door or come inside?”

He gave her an apologetic smile and scooted in behind her. She didn’t wait for him, just strode to the kitchen and reappeared a moment later, wine glass in hand, to settle on the edge of the couch. 

He fidgeted nervously. “Ah. Don’t suppose you have any more of that, do you?”

“No.” Okay then. Very angry. Noted. 

“I came to apologize for earlier. I was entirely out of line.”

She just kept staring at him. Silent. He paced across the room and sat beside her. He was completely unprepared when she flinched away and moved to sit in the chair by the window, never taking her eyes off him. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. 

She gulped the contents of her glass and set it down on the floor beside her then dropped her eyes, took a deep breath and looked up to meet his eyes again. “I think I need some space.”

“Space?” he repeated numbly. 

She nodded, eyes huge and dark. “Space.”

“But….why?”

She dropped her gaze to her lap, where her fingers were busily twisting themselves into knots. “Because this,” gesturing back and forth between the two of them, “is hurting me.”

“I know what I said was hurtful and wrong and…” She interrupted. 

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s our entire relationship. It’s changed and I, I don’t like it.”

He knew his bewilderment was plain on his face but he had no idea what she meant. 

“You haven’t even noticed, have you?”

“What? Is it David?” He couldn’t keep the tinge of jealousy fueled anger out of his voice. “Are you together? Finally get a priest you can fuck so you don’t need me anymore, is that it?”

“Fuck you! No you complete arsehole. What I have is a  _ friend _ who treats me like a  _ friend _ and not a toy or a bomb or a novelty or whatever the fuck I am to you on any given day. He sees me like you saw me, like you  **used to see me,** except he doesn’t push me away when I’m inconvenient.” She was breathing heavily and clenching and unclenching her fists. 

“I am a Catholic priest. A  _ celibate  _ Catholic priest. I cannot have that kind of relationship with you.”

She jumped to her feet and shouted, “What kind of relationship do you think we have? He. Is. My. Friend.”

He couldn’t help but scoff. “Friend. Yeah. I’ve heard that one before.”

She looked at him pityingly. “You know, I thought I was the selfish, narcissistic arsehole in our relationship. Turns out I’m not. But at least it’s not just me you can’t have a functioning relationship with.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not my information to share. But I will say this about you and me: I noticed. When you told me we were just friends, I noticed how often you found a reason to touch me. A hug. Hand lingering in a touch just a  _ tad _ too long. Those fucking braids. And I thought that maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling the attraction. But you let me know that it wasn’t going to happen. You weren’t going to stray from your vows. And I honoured your feelings. I dated. I put myself out there. And every time it didn’t work out, I could see you were pleased. You mimed support but you were glad they all failed. At the same time you were encouraging me to establish other relationships, you interfered when you felt I got too close to someone and then, when all I had left was you, you pushed me away whenever I wasn’t  _ convenient.”  _ She paused for breath and he tried to say something, anything to deny her words. 

“No, no. I’m not done. I know it wasn’t a conscious effort on your part. You’re not normally a cruel person, but I feel like you’re punishing me for having a relationship with someone who isn’t you. The old me would have either written you off or hurt David to please you. That’s not me anymore. I value David’s friendship and I hope that you’ll figure out what you want from me and we can move on from this.”

“I…” 

She shook her head sadly. “This isn’t a conversation or a debate. This is me telling you what  _ I _ need. Call me after you’ve sorted your shit.”

She pushed him gently but firmly to the door then out onto the stoop. “Good night.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions.

He doesn’t remember how he got back to the church. He doesn’t remember eating or bathing or getting in bed. He does remember Pam’s concerned face hovering near his. He remembers dialing her number a half dozen times before chickening out. The fog lifted in bits and pieces. 

As the weeks passed, he learned what it was like to live without her in his life and he found that he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. Particularly since a lack of her in  _ his _ life didn’t mean she wasn’t in the lives of others, particularly Pam and David.

Priests were prone to forgiveness, even ex-Priests, so he managed to patch things up with David fairly quickly. David, however, would  _ not _ talk about her with him and utterly refused to be a go-between. It was frustrating, but understandable. He got himself into this, he could damn well get himself out.

Pam was, well, Pam had eaten his head off after their last baking get-together. He wondered if she’d cancel and hoped that she’d come to the rectory so he could at least sneak a look, but Pam went to hers instead and came back spitting mad. He should have been appalled at her language, but instead he was deeply impressed. The fact that he was secretly pleased that she had talked about him to Pam, even if it made him look like an proper wanker, was a feeling that he didn’t want to examine too closely. Pam did apologize later, for the language, not the sentiment, but also said something that had lodged in his brain like a splinter and had him worrying at it every time he had a quiet moment. 

“Father, I don’t believe in throwing stones and I’m certainly no paragon of, well, anything, but you need to assess yourself and make some decisions. You’re not being a good Father, a good man, OR a good friend right now and you should really be at least one of those.” Pam refused to elaborate, but he didn’t really need her to. He was just hoping someone else’s perspective might help him get some of his own. 

He tried to fall back into the routine he’d had for over a decade, hoping the familiar patterns would help him clear his mind and get back on track. He made his prayers of contrition, prayed for intercession, and offered up the spiritual bouquet. He was no closer to peace or clarity than when he started. 

He performed his duties as he always had. He was calming, solicitous, Fatherly - everything his flock had come to expect of him. But some essential something was missing and he no longer felt the satisfaction he used to. He was just a man in a pretty dress going through the motions of the Priesthood. He needed guidance. And a friend. 

***

“So are you going to tell me why we’re really here or are you going to continue to make asinine comments about the starters?” 

“She’s really starting to rub off on you, isn’t she?” the Priest hoped he pulled off sounding amused. 

David glared at him and forcefully stabbed another stuffed mushroom. “Fuck you. Why are you being so weird about this?” Hm. Guess he didn’t pull it off. 

“Weird about what?”

David’s eye roll was the Platonic ideal of the eye roll. 

“About my friendship with her. You’ve been weird about us ever since she started helping with my organization. I thought you would have been pleased that she was doing God’s work even if she isn’t a believer herself.”

“I was. I AM.”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”

“I..I....just…” he ran his hands over his face and through his hair. 

“Come on mate. Talk to me. What the hell is going on with you?”

He took a deep breath. “Are you two dating?”

“Dating? What? No! What?”

“You spend a lot of time together and I’ve never seen either of you so comfortable with anyone...except maybe me. You’re both fun and attractive and available. Why wouldn’t you be dating?”

“We’re going to circle back to the ‘both’ part in a minute. First, men and women  _ can _ just be friends. You do know this, right?”

“Oh fuck you!”

“Hey, I’m not the one being a complete arsehole.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know,” he sighed. “Sorry.”

David took a long pull from his glass and sat it down with a thud. “It’s not me you need to apologize to. I’m not the friend you, essentially, called a whore.” The Priest covered his face with his hand and hung his head. “As an aside, there is nothing wrong with sex work. As a scholar and a priest, you should know that. Would Jesus have spoken like that to Mary Magdalen?”

“You’re right. You’re right on all counts. Fuck. I’m a shite priest.” The dark look David shot him made him feel even worse. 

“You’re a good priest. You’re just being a terrible friend and, as contradictory as this sounds in comparison to my first statement, a terrible _persona_ _Christi_. She’s not your parishioner. She’s a friend and a fellow human being. So stop being such a wanker. Also, when you apologize remember: _it is not all about you!”_

The sigh that escaped him felt like it came from his soul. “I know. I know. I just…” He closed his eyes, not sure of where he was going with this. He felt David’s hand gently cover his and opened his eyes to see his friend looking at him with such compassion that his fear evaporated. 

“What did it feel like?” 

David’s confusion would have been comical if the situation weren’t so serious. “What did  _ what _ feel like?”

“What did realizing you were leaving the Church feel like?”

“Oh.” It was David’s turn to sigh and scrub at his face. He took a deep breath and met the Priest’s eyes, stating soberly, “It felt like Hell. Like literal Hell. I felt like I was betraying God.” He was silent for a moment. “Is that what this is all about? You’re having a crisis of faith so you’re taking it out on the atheist?”

“No!” He shook his head vehemently. “No! That is  _ not _ it at all! At all!”

“So you’re having a crisis of faith and acting out against your friends because you think they’re having a relationship, which you can’t have because of your vows?”

“No!”

“It’s okay. You wouldn’t be the first priest to feel that way. I’ve met a lot of others in group. Some have left the Church because they found that celibacy and a lack of intimate personal relationships was wrong for them. Some have relationships and realized the Church is where they belong. But they’ve all struggled and each one has had to discover their own truth.”

“Did you ever struggle with it?

David gave an odd little half-smile. “No, celibacy was never a problem for me.”

He couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice, “Celibacy wasn’t a problem. Really?”

“Really.”

“So it’s just a problem for us mortals.”

“Fuck you, you twat. No. Celibacy wasn’t a problem for me, which is the second reason she and I are  **just friends** .”

“Oh really, and why’s that?”

“Because I’m ace you absolute wanker.”

His face must have conveyed just how confused he felt because David pulled back and crossed his arms over his chest before taking a deep breath and repeating, “I’m ace.”

“Oh-kay. I’m guessing that doesn’t have anything to do with playing cards or the RAF.”

“Ace. Asexual. Not interested in sex.”

“Oh.” Pause. “That’s a thing?”

David looked utterly perplexed. “ _ Yes that’s a thing.  _ Have you been living under a rock?”

“Uh, no, I’ve been a priest for over ten years. Most of my experience with sex in that time has been telling horny people not to have it unless they’re married. I don’t get a whole lot of people in Confessional talking about how they’re  _ not _ wanting to have sex.”

“Trust me, it’s a thing.”

“Huh.” He cocked his head to the side and really looked at his friend. 

“No.”

“What?”

“No no no no no.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“I know that face.”

“What face?”

“That face you make when you’re about to break out the textbooks and markers. I’ll send you information about current thoughts on sexuality and gender later.”

“But…”

“No. You are not derailing this conversation. So if it’s not Christianity versus Atheism and it’s not celibacy, what’s driving this crisis of faith?”

“It’s not a crisis of faith, exactly. I still believe in God. I still want to serve Him. But I want more. I have all this, this  _ love _ ,” he choked out, “and I know who needs it, who I want to give it to. Who I want to build a life with. But I can’t. Not as a priest. And I can’t help but feel like He wouldn’t put all this love in my heart if He didn’t want me to share it. Would He?”

“Ah. I see.” David reached out to take his hands again. “I can’t tell you what’s right for you. We can support each other, but in the end, everyone’s journey is their own. What I can say is this: if you really do love her, you need to make a decision. Stay a Catholic priest and be a good friend, or take a leap of faith and see if she feels the same way. There aren’t any guarantees. I’ll be here for you either way.”

They settled the bill and parted ways a few blocks later. He took the long way home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. It’s been a crazy month and the writer’s block has been fierce.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apology accepted.

It took him months of prayer, support groups, counseling, and a silent retreat to his favorite monastery to “sort his shit,” as she had put it. He sent her a text saying he was taking a sabbatical and would call her. 

He did the work and he was rewarded with something he hadn’t had in years: peace. Peace and clarity of purpose. 

  
  


***

The sign on the café read  _ Closed for Private Event.  _ He peered in the window, expecting to see a bridal brunch or tea party. Instead, the café was full of teenagers mixing, chopping, and stirring at make-shift cooking stations. He watched as she moved from table to table, answering questions here and making adjustments there. He decided to visit his favorite bookshop and come back later. 

He was back two hours later. The sign was still up but the café was empty except for her. He watched as she swept up, obviously singing to herself as she moved around the café. He tapped the door. She glanced up then froze when she realized who was knocking. It took her a moment to make her way over and unlock the door. He swallowed nervously. The bell jangled as the door opened. He looked up and met her eyes and the world seemed to stand still for just a moment. 

“Um hi. Hello. H-hi.” Smooth. So smooth. 

Her lips quirked up and her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Hi.” She made no move to invite him in. Well, he was nothing if not persistent. 

He pointed behind her. “May I?”

Her face scrunched up, doubt clearly written on her features. “I dunno.” Her voice rose at the end almost like she was questioning herself. 

“Please?”

“Are you going to yell at me?”

“Wha- No. Why would I do that?” She ignored his question and followed up with another. 

“Are you going to get mad at me and call me names?”

He hung his head, thinking about their last conversation. “No, that won’t happen again. I promise. And, for what it’s worth, I’m truly, deeply sorry for how I behaved.”

She studied him for a minute before moving back to allow him into her space, closing and locking the door behind her. 

Now that he’s here, seeing her for the first time in so many months, every single thing he had prepared to say slips from his mind completely. He reaches his hand out and cups her jaw, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. Then it’s just there, in his brain, waiting for him to acknowledge it out loud. And it’s so easy. The easiest thing in the world. 

“I love you so fucking much.”

Her eyes go wide and soft. Before he can do anything more than shift to move closer, her face closes up, leaving him looking at the inscrutable mask she wore when they first met. 

“Father, I appreciate…” He slides his fingers over her lips, silencing her before she can go any further. 

“I’m not a Father anymore.” It’s not often he’s managed to render her speechless but she’s gaping at him like a fish out of water. He can’t help himself. He giggles then sobers again. 

“I love you and I’m so sorry it took me so long to figure it out and that I took my turmoil out on you. You were a good friend to me and I was terrible to you. I wouldn’t blame you if you demanded I leave and never speak to you again. But I had to tell you. At least once, I had to tell you.”

Her face remained closed and she pulled away from him. 

His heart stuttered. It broke. It cut his soul into a million pieces. 

He had to clear his throat three times before he could strangle out a barely audible “Ok.” 

He coughed once and began to back away. “I’ll just be going then. I wish you all the be…” He didn’t make it any further before she launched herself at him, flinging her arms around neck. 

She grabbed his face in her hands and shook it gently. “It’s about fucking time!”

“What?”

“And plant your feet - you aren’t going  _ anywhere.  _ Seriously, if you try to go out that door I will...I will...find out every way to attract foxes then summon them to wherever you live or work or relax... _ forever! _ ” 

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist, snugging her against him in a grip tight enough to convince her he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. 

He nuzzled her hair and peppered it with kisses. His heart had gone from broken to whole and soaring in less than a minute. 

“What do you mean ‘it’s about fucking time’? You knew?” She rolled her eyes and squeezed him more tightly. 

“Of course I knew, you wanker. You knob. You nutter.”

“Okay, okay. I get it! But...how?”

She went to pull away, but he wasn’t ready to let go yet, so he tightened his arms and wove a foot between hers to hold her there. She chuckled and relaxed back into his embrace. 

“Do you recall the little speech I gave the last time we saw each other?”

“In detail,” he muttered darkly. 

She nodded. “For all those reasons. And...well…” here she hesitated, a flush rising on her checks. 

He prodded, “And?”

“Just the way you would look at me. Like I was important. To you. Like I mattered.”

“You matter  _ so _ much.”

“But…I knew you were committed to the Priesthood and I wasn’t going to push you. I’ve been trying, really trying, to not let my selfishness hurt anyone else.” He stroked her hair and she swallowed hard and whispered, “I’ve learned to live with what I did to Boo. Hurting you would have broken me.”

His heart felt like it swelled and squeezed at the same time. “Oh Love.” 

She butted him with her forehead. “But that didn’t mean that I had to let you treat me badly just because you were mad that you made a choice that made you forego,” she gestured at herself and smiled teasingly, “all this.”

He chuckled. “True. True.”

She looked at him through her lashes, wicked smile on her lips “So...not a priest anymore, huh?”

“Not a priest anymore,” he whispered into her ear. 

She pulled back and brushed her lips against his. “No lingering desire for celibacy? The simpler, more peaceful life?”

He ran his lips down her jaw and pressed his mouth just below her ear to growl, “Celibacy can go hang.” 

She gasped and shuddered and he smiled and lightly nipped her neck where his lips had been. He slid his hands down to cup her arse and pull her hips tightly against his, grinding against her to demonstrate just how little he was interested in celibacy at the moment. Her breath hitched and she let out a breathless laugh before replicating his action. 

“So, Father, what’ll it be - a quickie in the back or do you want to come home with me?”

“Not a Father…”

“Oh, I think we’ll be hanging on to that honorific. You were right - it  _ does _ turn me on just to say it. And I have so many,  _ many _ fantasies that we’ll need to try. For science.”

“For science, hm?” He nipped at her neck again just to make her gasp. “Well, then I choose option C.”

“C?”

“We go back to my place. It’s closer.” He paused to glance out the window at the fading daylight. “And I want this to be a private show.”

***

Twenty minutes later he had her pressed against his door, kissing and groping and moaning like they were  _ both _ touch-starved ex-priests, while he tried to unlock the door without removing his lips from hers. 

When he finally succeeded, they tumbled in and he slammed the door shut behind him, locking it with a quick flick of his wrist.

She gave his studio flat a quick once-over then grabbed his belt and drug him to her for a searing kiss that made his toes curl and his cock throb. 

“Layers! Too many layers!” he gasped as he tried to divest himself of his shirt, trousers, and shoes simultaneously, which worked out as well as one might expect, which is to say not at all. He managed to get his shoes off, but he was tangled in his shirt so badly that he hadn’t been able to do more than uncinch his belt. 

He was about to ask for help when he felt her lips on his stomach and she began kissing and licking a trail up his torso. He almost went to his knees when her sharp little teeth closed around his nipple.

“Ungh! Not fair! Help me out of this!”

Her throaty laugh sent shivers up his spine in all the right ways. 

“Mm. No. I don’t think so.”

He struggled with his shirt but had managed to get himself well and truly stuck. 

“Help. Me. Please.” he grated. 

“Patience is a virtue, Father,” she sing-songed back at him. 

He heard rustling and then felt her hands on his bare skin just above his waistband. Ever so slowly, she began sliding his trousers off his hips and down his legs. She kissed him just beneath his navel and he went completely still when he felt her hot breath through his boxer-briefs as she ghosted her mouth down the length of his erection. 

“F-f-f-f….uhhhh,” he moaned, his brain short-circuiting

He felt the vibrations from her chuckle, face right below his crotch, and his balls tightened almost painfully. This time his moan didn’t even have the pretense of language. 

She continued lowering his trousers, biting and licking the newly-revealed skin of his inner thighs. He was on fire, blood pounding in his ears, skin tight with the need to touch and be touched. He gave his shirt one more violent tug and felt the seams rip, freeing him enough to wrestle it all the way over his head and drop it on the floor. 

She was on her knees before him, naked save for her wishbone necklace, red lips curved in a devilish smirk. He reached out and laid a hand on her head, working his fingers through her soft curls and moving down to cup her jaw. She turned her face in to his palm and sucked his thumb into her mouth to swirl her tongue around it, never breaking eye contact. It was the hottest fucking thing. 

She kept her gaze locked on his as she slowly began working his underwear off and continued to suck and lick his thumb. The combination of sensations were driving him wild and he was worried he was going to cum without ever being inside her. 

He let her work off his last bit of clothing then quickly pulled her up so her gloriously naked body was flush against his. 

“I wasn’t done yet!” she protested. 

“But I was about to be, and I would really prefer to cum inside you our first time instead of on your gorgeous tits. We’ll save that for later.”

They both moaned when he grabbed her hips and rocked against her, sliding his length against her hot, wet center. 

He drove her back and pushed her down on the bed, parting her knees with his own and pausing with the tip of his cock pressed right at her entrance. 

She canted her hips up, trying to push him in. “What are you waiting for? Fuck me already!”

He pressed his hips forward slightly then rubbed his nose against hers. “I love you.”

Her face softened and she looked at him with naked adoration. “I love you, too. Now fuck me before I spontaneously combust!”

He kissed her softly and slowly began pushing into her, inch by glorious inch. She moaned softly as he worked his way into her until he was buried as deep as he could get. “As you wish.” 

He withdrew slowly, drawing out almost completely before pressing in again. It took all of his willpower to keep his movement slow and steady - she was so hot and tight and kept clenching around him, trying to drive him over the edge. He continued kissing her, licking into her mouth and nipping along her jaw, hoping she understood that this was more than just sex for him. That he was hers, body and soul. 

She fisted her hands in his hair and wrapped her legs around his, using the leverage to begin pistoning her hips up and down, driving them both into a frenzy of pleasure. He had wanted their first time to last, wanted to draw out the pleasure for as long as he could, but it had been so long since his cock had been touched for pleasure that he knew he wasn’t going to last for long. He could already feel his orgasming building. She just felt so damn good and the sounds she was making didn’t help - moans and sighs and his name whispered brokenly. 

He didn’t want to risk coming before she did, so he worked his hand between them to circle and rub her clit with his fingers, increasing his pace and pressure until he felt her stiffen and cry out as her body bowed up and shuddered as her orgasm ripped through her. Satisfied, he let himself go, thrusting wildly as she spasmed around him. He couldn’t hold back any longer - each thrust was fast and deep and his focus narrowed to the feeling of her cunt gripping his cock tightly, hot and wet and  _ oh so good.  _ He came, pumping deep inside her, toes curling and body rigid with the force of his orgasm. 

When his vision finally cleared he found her looking up at him with the softest smile on her face. He didn’t want to disconnect just yet, so he tucked himself around her and cradled the back of her head in his hands. 

He rubbed his nose to hers again. “Hm. What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?”

“You look like you’re happy or something.”

“Well, I did just get laid properly for the first time in  _ ages,  _ so endorphins and whatnot. Also…”

“Also?” he prodded. 

She grinned. “Also, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he beamed. 

She shifted her hips and ran her nails down his flanks and around to grasp his arse and firmly pull him against her. His cock, still buried inside her, began to stiffen again. She leered at him. “Ready for round two?”

His only reply was a kiss. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about stuff.

Later - much, much later - they lay curled together in his bed, sated and content. He drew patterns across her exposed skin as she dozed, reveling in the feel of her and the reality that this could be his life from now on. Their legs were tangled together and he was spooned up behind her. Her head was resting in the crook of his bent arm. Did it matter that he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers? No. Small price to pay for the miracle that was  _ them _ . 

“You’re staring,” came the muffled accusation. 

There was no denying it, so he kissed the shell of her ear instead. 

“Mmmhmm. Hello, love.”

She shuffled ‘round to face him and he took the opportunity to shake some feeling back into his hand. 

She cupped his face in her hands and gave him a long, languid kiss. He rested his forehead against hers, enjoying the quiet moment that they were now free to share. 

“Mmm. I’ve been meaning to ask, why did you have a café full of teenagers today? New social experiment?”

She nuzzled in closer. “Not the way you mean, but sort of. David was telling me how many older children are responsible for caring for their younger siblings and I thought it might be useful to teach them some basic prepping and cooking skills. So I’ve been closing the café to patrons once a month and teaching a class. Pam and I have been alternating.”

He started in surprise. “Pam? My Pam?”

Her eyebrows rose. “ _ Your _ Pam?”

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled, blushing. 

“Yes,  _ your _ Pam.  _ You _ disappeared, but we kept our friendship going.” When his brow furrowed, she added, “We didn’t discuss you or what you were about. But that does explain her smug look over the last month and a half. Speaking of...what were you doing all this time? I have to say, despite having David and Pam, I was feeling a little bereft.” She tried to keep her voice light, but he could hear the hurt underneath and instinctively cuddled her closer. 

“Sorting my shit, as instructed,” he teased. “But really, I was...working through everything, trying to reconcile my feelings with my faith and realizing that I did not want to live a life without you in it.” He paused, not sure how to continue. She didn’t interrupt, just gave him a squeeze and waited patiently. “You’ve gotten better at this,” he said softly. 

“I had a good example.”

“Well, I realized that maybe these feelings for you would pass, eventually.” He saw the dismay written plainly across her features and hastened to add, “Eventually as in ‘when I was on my deathbed,’ and honestly? Maybe not even then. And I realized that my struggle wasn’t about who I loved more, you or God. That it wasn’t a competition. That’s like asking a parent which child they love more…”

“Dad loves Claire more,” she replied promptly and without hurt. 

“Okay, but you have to admit your family’s a little…”

“What?”

“A little…”

“ _ What?” _ she laughed.

“Your family’s a little fucked up. And trust me, I know how very pot calling kettle that is.” He paused to rub his nose against her cheek, much to her obvious enjoyment. “Having  _ favorites  _ may be normal, but actually loving one more than the other is decidedly not. You just love them differently.  _ Anyway.  _ I realized the true issue was did I love being a  _ Catholic  _ priest more than I loved you and that wasn’t even a contest. Not even close. God never cared about celibacy. It wasn’t  _ His _ rule. It was some musty old men who probably could even bribe someone to fuck them so they made up a rule to punish everyone.”

She lifted a brow. “So you can have your cake…”

“...and fuck it too? Yes.” He grinned then ran a hand down to cup her between her legs. “But I’m really more interested in pie right now.” He gave her a gentle squeeze and revelled in her soft moan.

“Father!”

“Shhh,” he whispered in her ear. “Communion is about to start.” He made his way down her body and, in the time that followed, brought them both as close to God as either would ever be in this lifetime. In that, he had faith. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than my other chapters but I just liked the way it ended and didn’t want to make that the midpoint. Planning on a Epilogue and then to pick back up on Penance.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end?

He chuckled softly, reliving the memory, and squeezed the hand holding his. “I was right and I was wrong. Over the years, the physical aspect of our relationship did bring me close to God many, many times. But those weren't the only times I could feel the Lord’s presence in my life. 

He was there at our wedding. It was simple and beautiful and David presided. Only our nearest and dearest were attendance. As I watched you walk towards me, face beaming and eyes only for me, I could feel God’s love explode through my heart and I wanted to share the feeling with everyone - shout it from the rooftop. 

We bought that flat together and I split my time between the café and David’s non-profit until I found our church, one that had room for both my faith and my wife.” He squeezed the hand again and smiled. “My wife! Such a tease! Always laughing every time I said it. Said I alway had a silly smile and heart eyes when I said it, didn’t you?

It’s taken the long view to see that God was always there, even when it seemed like He wasn’t. He was with me when we argued over the finances (I’m shit at them) and over the cleaning (your weak spot) and when we made up. I definitely felt a Heavenly presence when, after that ugly row - you know, the one we can never remember how it started - we ran into one another in the hall, on our way to apologize to each other. We were in this together and both trying our damnedest to make it work instead of running away. 

God was there with me when we found out we were pregnant and again when I heard our daughter’s heartbeat for the first time. I felt Him when they rushed you out of the delivery room and into the surgical suite when it all went wrong and I nearly lost both of you.” Tears streamed down his face and he let them, barely noticing when gentle fingers wiped them away. “I prayed and begged and bargained and did all of the things people do when their heart is breaking. I went to my knees when they brought me a little pink, wrinkled, squalling bundle and I stayed there, cradling her and talking to her while the doctors worked to save her mother. I held one miracle and prayed for another, even though I knew - who better? - that God doesn’t work that way. When I finally got to hold my wife again,” hand squeeze, “I heard God in every laboured breath. I held our daughter through the night, telling her all about her amazing Mum and how much she was loved. When you finally opened your eyes and I was able to place our baby in your arms for the first time...well. There was God again. I’ve cherished the image of you together for the first time, wonder and love and fierce devotion writ all over your face as you looked at the miracle our love made.”

He sighed. “It would be a lie to say I always felt close to the Lord after that. There were struggles. Of course there were. I’m only a flawed human, after all. Times got tough. But we made it through, together, and we chose each other time and time again.”

He took a deep breath, coughing when his breath caught in his lungs. 

“Hey, take it easy. It’s okay.” 

He looked over at the seat beside him and smiled. “I seem to have form for making you wait, don’t I? I’ve missed you so much.” He gave one last, shuddering sigh. 

His daughter looked at the empty chair and then at the photo of her parents that her dad always kept on the nightstand. It was a candid, them talking with a group of people, but they only had eyes for each other. She, like her Da, believed that something wonderful waited in the next life. That night, she dreamed of them sitting together on a wooden bench in a garden at night, drinking cans of G&T. When she awoke, she couldn’t say if it was real or not. But she had faith. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, y’all!


End file.
